Letters
by Midnight Wanderings
Summary: It all started with a letter. Hermione Draco.
1. The Slip Up

**Disclaimer : 'Harry Potter' belongs to J.K Rowling**

**Summary : It all started with a letter.**

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She was drawn to it...no, drawn to him. He was the sole constant in her life, the only thing that never changed, never varied. Sometimes, she thinks about how it all began, how she got herself into this sticky mess. A sticky-catastrophic-gaping-black-hole-never-going-to-go-back type of mess. And every time she does, she finds different points of origin. Perhaps it was the time when she thought he was the 'heir of Slytherin,' but then again, maybe she was too young to feel the pull back then. Yes, too young. It must have started when she realised his envolvement with the Death Eaters, with the sinister plot that led to the downfall of Albus Dumbledore. An end that would surely be recorded in books for centuaries onwards. But then again, maybe she wasn't too young after all. Maybe, if she was really truthful with herself, she would admit that it all started with a letter. One that she recieved at the ripe, young age of eleven. "Yes," she says to herself, yes, if she had never come to Hogwarts in the first place none of this would have even started. There would be no need for a point of origin.

She saw him climb onto the train, and immediately noticed how he still held his head high, broad shoulders stiff and ironed into place. He retained his aloof façade, appearing only to return to the mortal world to throw out one (or many) of his daily insults. And, of course, a leering smirk plastered on to his face. She felt it. The 'tug.' Or rather violent yanking of her heartstrings. Not because of some misplaced lust, or even love. No, the dark shadow snaking around her body wasn't something as foolish and childlike as love. Rather, it was something deeper, something blacker. Something whose tendrils could coil through and puncture her brick wall. It didn't have a name, like The Dark Lord, it was to vile and feared to have a name bestowed upon it. Too feared to be even spoken about. And pondering on it, Hermione Granger doesn't want to know it's name, doesn't want to aknowledge what has such a fierce hold on her. Because, in times like these, when one is all alone, it's a dangerous thing to be drawn to Draco Malfoy.

Hermione was coming back to school under strange circumstances this year. Sure she had sworn to Harry that she would not be finishing school and be aiding him in his search to uncover the horcruxes, but plans had changed over the summer. Things were no longer the same anymore, and promises made in advance could not always be fufilled.

She had gotten three letters over the summer, and like most other letters she had recieved over the course of her life, they uprooted her plans and sent her spiraling down another path than the on she had planned on. The first was the standard Hogwarts letter, stating the supplies and books she would need for her final year. The second, a much anticipated (but hardly unexpected) note telling her about her new position as the school's Head Girl. But the last letter...well, that one held the most suprise. That one was one of the final deciders that pushed her to return to the wizarding school. Due to the state of open warfare that the Wizarding World was now engaged in, and the fact that Dumbledore was no longer among the living, Hogwarts was no more a safe haven. Teachers quit, fleeing to the safety of their own houses. Howlers were sent from parents, screeching about the lack of organization and how the school could save paper as their children would not be returning to school. But in the light of the last few years, no one could really blame them. And that is how, this year, Hermione Granger became a senior, Head Girl and the new 'Defense Against The Dark Arts' professor.

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'Well, this was shaping out to be absolutely wonderful. Wonderfully shit.' Draco Malfoy wasn't stupid, he knew the only reason he was returning to Hogwarts this year was because of some well placed threats and hefty bribes planted by his mother. Afterall, the Minstry still feared the Malfoy name, even if the known Death Eater was behind bars. And the only thing Narcissa Malfoy wanted for her only son was for him to be happy. Unbeknownst to her, he would rather sallow a gallon of thistles and eat out his own intestines than return to the place he rather fittingly called 'Fuckwarts.' All he had to do was get onto a train and millions of whispers burst out. Like pigeons, scrambling around crumbs left by greater beings, students swarmed around the Malfoy heir. Noting his behaviour, the way he held himself.

_The way he came back._

But they never ventured to close. To fearful of the consequences that that simple action would reap. And as he proceeded to climb into an empty compartment, no one joined him. No one begged for his attention. The Slytherin Prince had fallen from grace. He was now looked upon with fear, disgust and hatred. 'Yes' he thought, 'Hell has no geography.'

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Predicting the chaos and cacophany that would follow the arrival of Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express, Hermione carefully kept her head bent, and slipped her way through not-so-full corridors. Not all the students had returned. A fact that made it easy for her to find an empty compartment. And locate Malfoy. There were whispers, people hissed out phrases, telling her to steer clear of number 10A, '_He_ was in there.' So, naturally, she sat down in number 11A. She told herself it was because she wanted some peace and quiet, and the compartment was as far away from civilization as she could manage.

Yes. There was no other reason.

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Bored. So, so very bored. He didn't see how _she_ could do it. Keep her head in a book for an entire lifetime. Hell, he was ready to do something else after 20 minutes. Now, for alternate forms of entertainment. What to do, what to do? After rumaging around in his black and silver trunk for a solid minute or so, Draco's hand grasped around something round. 'Ahh, this would suffice (for a few minutes at least).' Draco's attention was know to waver as soon as it was captured, especially when it came to play things, breathing or not. In the following minutes, he rapidly started pounding a travel sized Quaffle (courtesy of Flourish and Blotts) against the opposing wall of his void compartment.

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'What in the name of Dumbledore's beard was that noise?!' She swore it vibrated the wall and bench/sofa thing that she was resting on. And it certainly distracted her from reading. 'The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 7' just wasn't the same when you had – what sounded like thriving construction work being drilled into your head as well. Right, she was Hermione Granger. Professor, Head Girl and extremely stubborn. This was certainly going to stop now. Stamping her feet and swearing to put an end to the disruptive noise, she ripped open the offender's door. 

"Malfoy."

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'So, the entertainment had come to him, knocking on his door. Or rather, violently pulling it of its hinges.' He was definately going to make this last as long as possible. 'Milk it for all it's worth,' his new motto. Or one of them at least.

"Ahh, Granger. How nice of you to stop by. Or, you know. Not."

"Malfoy, how nice of you to welcome me. Or, you know. Not."

"Copying my insults? What, having to spend every waking moment with Potty and Weasel made you start to think like them, a.k.a not at all?"

"So nice of you to bring up my friends. Where are yours? Oh, thats right, you don't have any. Who in their right mind would want to waste their time with the son of the failed Death Eater and his whore."

The minute the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. What had made her say those things, and then proceed to rub them in his face like she had no care? Like she was him. Maybe it was the momentary shock that passed his face that made her follow with,

"Look, Draco, I'm so..."

"Save it Mudblood, and leave me the fuck alone."

And with those parting words, she stumbled out of his compartment. And after a moments reflection she realised what she had let carelessly slip out of her mouth. Something he was sure to pick up on. Something that was sure to show him the 'tug,' the 'pull.'

She had called him Draco.

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	2. The Aftermath

**Disclaimer: I only own the plot.**

**Thanks for the reviews :) **

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**Chapter 2  
**

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Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god...

Can't breathe.

Can't think.

Oh god.

Problem.

Disasterous problem.

Head spinning,

World turning,

And suddenly on the floor.

"Ouch"

The exclamation came from one Ginny Weasely, the only one to return this year.

"Here, let me help you up,"

Ginny extended her slender hand and grasped it around Hermione's.

"Thanks."

"So, whats got you so blind that you can't see right in front of you? I don't see a book in your hands."

"Oh, ha ha ha. Very funny Ginny."

"No seriously, something's bothering you, it's not nerves is it? Or Malfoy? He's still not keeping up that holier-than-thou attitude is he?

God, sometimes I wish I could just..."

Hermione butted in. After hearing Dra- No. _Malfoy's _name, she got nervous.

"No, no, it's nothing. Just a little anxious, you know? School, teaching and all that."

"That reminds me, I was told to tell you that you're to go to the Head's Compartment, something about a m...?"

Ginny never got to finish her sentence though as she watched Hermione scuttle away.

'Well, she was always a little strange.'

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'How dare she say that. _She, _the inferior know-it-all. Come to think about it, how dare she even talk to me?!' 

Draco Malfoy was not in a good mood.

A mantra of hate messages and insults swirled around his brain. and plots. He was going to get her back.

_Draco _was not one to be messed with.

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**Sorry for the short chapter. The next one will make up for it.**

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	3. The Dilemma

**Chapter 3**** – The Dilemma**

By the time the train had slowly chugged its way to a halt at the end of the line Hermione had had enough time to convince herself that Malfoy might just have been to preoccupied to even notice the blasphemy that had slipped past her lips earlier.

'Yes,' she thought to herself, 'he never suspected a thing.'

That of course, didn't explain her hyperventilating, in fact, if she was really honest with herself, she knew that he wouldn't ignore it, she knew that retaliation was in store for her, and she _knew_ that her new status in Hogwarts would not prevent him from lashing out.

These thoughts that were running rampant through her mind had subsequent made Hermione oblivious to the fact that her feet, quite through memory, had carried her to the Great Hall, and by the time she had forcibly yanked herself out of her inner storm, she realised she had just a minor dilemma on her hands – where was she supposed to sit?

Hermione had accepted the teaching position right at the last minute, and subsequently not received a reply owl layout the details of this particular situation, was she both a teacher and student, a student teacher, or just the latter? Her eyes rapidly scanned the professors table at the front of the dining hall, attempting to make contact with someone who could silently motion her to her proper place. Finally, they rested upon Professor – no, Headmistress – McGonagall.

The first thing Hermione was the obvious change in her old head of house's eyes. Although usually sending out disapproving stares when settling upon students, Hermione was always able distinguish the joy behind those brown orbs, which suggested, much like a mother hen, that no matter how much her young Gryffindors had faltered and stumbled, McGonagall would be forever proud of her students. Therefore the now greying and gaunt face of her new Headmistress' face was almost a shock to Hermione's system, and as she slowly (and somewhat inconspicuously) made her way to the front table where the rest of the faculty was awaiting, it was with a heavy and saddened heart that as she look outwards towards the students of this year, she saw an echo of that deaden look in what should have been the eager and joyous faces of her future students.


End file.
